The women of the 'sandwich generation' caring for young and old

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a day ago

I started to notice my 81-year-old mother, Di, struggling just under a year ago, when she texted me late on a Saturday night worrying about some legal paperwork and I could not get her to calm down.
After that, she became increasingly anxious and depressed. She no longer took pleasure in the things she loved and began having trouble looking after herself day to day.
Realising that mum needed serious professional help, we checked her into a psychiatric hospital for a short stay that turned into six months. Her decline was rapid.
She seemed to wither before our eyes. There were falls, a broken arm, delirium, COVID, and, most likely dementia. She couldn't walk from bed to the toilet unaided.
Only months prior, mum had lived alone and was independent.
She had always been fearsome, a former school principal with a booming laugh and a single mother who made sure I had everything — a picture of self-sacrifice. We love each other to pieces, but also annoy each other like no-one else can.
When I realised mum wouldn't be able to live on her own anymore, we planned for her to move into a granny flat at the back of our place when she left the hospital.
I suddenly found myself part of what is sometimes called the "sandwich generation": people (mostly women) who have the task of being the primary carer for the generations on either side.
My life was hectic even before mum became unwell. I'm an executive producer on the podcast Ladies, We Need to Talk and a parent to my two lovely and spirited neurodivergent kids, who are nine and 11.
I knew it was going to be hard work, but nothing prepared me for the difficulty of trying to look after everyone all at once.
Every day is spent frantically managing other people's needs, and our time spent together is mostly functional, keeping everyone warm, medicated, fed and showered.
As well as helping mum after her release from hospital and getting the kids ready for school, a team of support workers for mum came and went daily, which required a tonne of admin and endless time on the phone.
I often feel tired, and like my emotional reserves are used up on everybody else. It could break me on some days.
But I'm not alone. There are around 1.5 million Aussies who are in this situation, and the numbers are rising.
The 2022 Income and Labour Dynamics in Australia (the "HILDA") Survey, found that women were "considerably more likely" to be carers than men.
As Australia's population ages, by 2050 the 85+ age group is expected to triple. We're also having babies later, which means women are often at the peak of their careers when they need to start caring for their kids and their elderly parents too.
So, I wanted to find out what the sandwich generation can do to take care not only of the people around them, but of themselves. And for those not at that stage yet, how can we set ourselves up to survive this period?
I met with Nasalifya Namwinga, a clinical psychologist and burnout researcher, who often sees how women carry most of the caregiving load, and how heavy this can be for them.
"I think there's an expectation that as a woman, you'll provide this care. You're being pulled in three different directions and you are being stretched to meet the needs of these particular roles [as a mother, carer and partner]," she says.
Namwinga says it can be helpful to have conversations about expectations of who does the care work early on, "while the parent actually has the capacity to engage or contribute".
I've used the word burnout a lot in the past year. But I've often wondered how you know you are experiencing carer burnout as opposed to just being a bit tired and over it?
Namwinga says there are three components to burnout: exhaustion, low efficacy and cynicism.
I identify with "low efficacy" — stuff like missing kids' appointments, or being late on paying my bills — things that are not the norm for me.
Namwinga says cynicism is also one to keep an eye on.
"[Cynicism] might play out as anger or intense emotions that don't match how you feel about the thing that you're doing. Those are the feelings that come up that; 'I just wish I didn't have to do any of it.' That's probably a sign you're experiencing carer burnout."
I think a lot of mothers and carers struggle with asking for help, because we're used to doing it all, and we are really good at juggling a million things. Namwinga says protecting ourselves from burnout is ultimately about "scaffolding" ourselves with support from others.
"So if I start experiencing exhaustion to the point that I'm struggling to get out of bed, who can I call? And asking them for support when you need it. And that means you have to prioritise yourself."
Phyllis, who is looking after her mother and children, thinks the term "sandwich generation" needs a rebrand.
I spoke to Phyllis because I wanted to hear about women going through similar experiences. She is in the thick of it right now, caring for her 94-year-old mother, Barbara, and two teenage sons, who are 15 and 18, while also working four days a week.
She's been her mum's main carer since Barbara's husband died 13 years ago.
"He was the filter through which mum saw the world, so when he passed, I had to step into that role," she says.
Barbara is in great health for a nonagenarian, but she doesn't drive anymore, and Greek is the language she's most comfortable with. So Phyllis is Barbara's emotional support, her taxi driver, her translator and personal assistant. She tries to see her mum twice a week, and they stay in constant phone contact.
But she has set clear expectations with Barbara about how much she can offer as a carer while also trying to parent two teenagers.
"My sons come first," she says. "You cannot in this day and age take your hands off the wheel. You can't just say 'hey they're teenagers now, go be free'. It adds a whole other layer of complexity to the parenting equation."
As the primary carer, Phyllis can sometimes feel the pressure of non-stop demands from her mum. Coupled with exhaustion, it means Phyllis can sometimes lose her cool with her mum.
"The boys have been present when I've argued with my mother and we've gone hammer and tongs and it's been really ugly. But then they also see when we make up," she says.
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The idea of modelling healthy relationships to your kids is something Namwinga leans into in her practice.
"When we mess up as parents, it actually provides a beautiful moment for repair with our children, which teaches them something about relationships. It teaches them that you are not perfect," she says.
"You can get things wrong. [Saying] 'I was wrong and I'm sorry', is a really powerful experience for a child to learn that if my parent doesn't have to be perfect, then maybe I don't have to be perfect either."
Phyllis says there can also be little moments of beauty with her mother.
"She can be a really complex, difficult character, but she's very loving and she's very kind and beneath all the bluster, is a very frightened, vulnerable little girl," she says.
"And that's what I try and hold onto when times can be tough.
"And it makes me emotional because, she's just such a force of nature. She's been through a lot of rejection and pain, and yet she's still who she is unapologetically. She's dealing with her frailties of aging with as much grace as she can muster."
I recently spent the day with mum after she had been in respite care for about three weeks. I took her shopping and I could tell she thought she felt good about herself for the first time in a long while. It was so great to see her sparkling a bit.
We went out for lunch and she told me about some friends she made in care, and how they get together to complain about the food. Having a chat with me was out of the ordinary for her; normally it's just a list of worries.
It made me feel a bit lighter, like there was a light at the end of the tunnel. I know there'll be many more bad days ahead, but she's in a good place right now, and we've just signed the paperwork for her to stay in care permanently.
But I'm also battling with something more existential as I watch my mum get older — a living grief for the woman she once was. A part of me is also preparing for the end.
"It is a complex grief to be watching someone you love slip away from you," Namwinga tells me.
"If they experience things like dementia, they're losing memories, they're losing mobility, [and] watching that process can be quite heartbreaking."
It is a privilege to be in a position where I can care for my mum and be able to pay her back for a lot of the stuff she did raising me.
If I was going to give any advice, it would be that it's going to happen way faster than you think. You think you've got years, but one event can just send everything spiralling out of control and change the whole world for them and for you.
So talk to your parents early about their power of attorney, their enduring guardianship, about their will and final wishes. They're hard conversations to have, but it's much easier to have them sooner than later.
The host of the Ladies, We Need To Talk, Yumi Stynes, once gave me some words of advice when I was having a bit of a shitty week: "Don't be heroic."
So I've taken those words on board and it's now my current Sandwich Gen motto.